On behalf of the Federation
by Juntaine
Summary: The Dominion War is over.  A captain, years later, returns to the site of a horrible crime.  A crime that he himself committed.


The transporter room of the USS Nelson blurred out and dissolved into a familiar clearing. His breath caught in his throat in anticipation, but the reaction he was expecting never occurred. Colburn didn't exactly know why he'd come back; there was nothing left. Silent trees reminded him that the sensors had picked up no complex lifeforms. On the hill in the distance he saw an abandoned Dominion stronghold.

So they had come.

_Welcome to our planet, Lieutenant. We offer our food and our friendship if you promise to do the same._

Colburn found the old path that ran through the forest and followed it until it opened out into another larger clearing. The buildings were still moderately intact; empty shells interspersed with large black craters when they'd been bombarded from the skies. Shattered remains of eating utensils and shreds of cloth were all that remained of the small colony. He shivered.

"_Get that data to the Federation, Lieutenant," croaked the dying captain. "They must know where that fleet is. Promise me!"_

It hadn't mattered at the time. Colburn was the highest ranking officer to survive who knew the Dominion's position. All he had to do was get it into Starfleet hands as soon as possible; all other concerns were secondary. No matter that an entire village was wiped out by his own hand.

"_I swear, Captain."_

They'd approached the village on foot, burned and exhausted after their shuttle crashed onto the planet. The Dominion had damaged their ship so severely that they'd only managed to go into warp for a few minutes before the engines gave out. The rest of the ship soon followed; only three had been able to escape the following inferno.

Records of the planet had categorized it as uninhabited but recently a peaceful species had established a small colony. Their warp technology had been converted into power cells for food, sanitation, and other necessities so the Prime Directive didn't apply. The Federation held sway over this sector, but had not yet made formal contact with these people. Nobody even knew they were there.

They were called the Dlaa'ta, as far as Colburn could tell. They were shorter than humans with a soft silky white fur covering their entire bodies. Pale blue eyes looked curiously at the intruders as they burst into the clearing. It had never occurred to them to be frightened. They gave Colburn and the two remaining crew members food and shelter for the night while they planned their next move.

"We need to get that shuttle operational. What do we need to do that?" he'd asked his two companions.

"Power," replied Jota, of the three the one with the most engineering knowledge.

"But where would we get the power?"

They'd asked the Dlaa'ta, but the power they were willing to part with was minimal.

_We will not inform them of your presence. But you must leave._

"_Thalyn to Colburn. Everything okay down there_?" came a female voice through the communicator.

He tapped his badge, activating it. "I'm fine, Nazira. It's just going to take some time."

"_Acknowledged. Don't stay out too long_."

"Yes, dear." Even after a year of marriage she could still be overprotective.

Taking a deep breath, he ventured deeper into the forest.

"_That is all we can spare."_

"_Thank you. I know what this means to your people."_

_She smiled, showing her white pointy teeth. "We are glad to help our friends."_

Had things gone as planned, it would have ended there with everyone alive. But in war, rarely do events go as planned.

Ensign Borlon had reported the arrival of the Dominion while the village listened. The shuttle had been hidden the day before; only a careful visual sweep could find it. But once the shuttle's power was restored, they would have little time to escape.

"We will not tell them you are here," said their Dlaa'ta friends. "We don't want any fight; please leave while you can."

So they had. Ducking through the forest, following the faint hunting paths, they uncovered the small craft and set to work incorporating their precious Dlaa'ta power cell. Things were looking up. Until Jora had told him the power cell wouldn't be enough. The Dlaa'ta had made it quite clear that they had given up as much as they could without sacrificing their own survival. A choice had to be made.

It hurt to remember. Every fiber of his being was demanding that he leave and forget all of this. But duty won out; duty to the ethics and morals of the Federation, morals that he'd broken for the sake of war. What tore at his soul was the knowledge that he'd never been held accountable, that all agreed the mission had to take precedence. Knowing he wasn't the only one to do something horrific.

The Federation had never been prepared for this. For centuries it had stood as proof that peace and justice could endure. They'd been lucky with the Borg—Picard's experience had proven invaluable to the Federation and deadly to the Borg. That war was deadly but quick. With the Dominion it had been a long drawn out war; one at times it had seemed certain they would lose. The Federation wasn't bred for war—sure, the technology was there and many captains had battle experience. But not on this scale, where every day chunks of the Federation were torn away by a predatory Dominion. The distinction between friend and enemy became blurred. The Federation had fought back as only it knew how; allies and improvisation. Rules had to be broken to ensure survival, loses became inevitable. But now that the war was over, the excuses evaporated leaving the twisted wreckage of broken promises.

"_What do we do, Lieutenant?" _

The burden of command; the command decision. But his course seemed clear: the mission was crucial to the survival of the Federation. Fleet positions this far into enemy territory could win battles. Win wars.

_Welcome to our planet, Lieutenant. We offer our food and our friendship if you promise to do the same._

Remembrance caught in his throat as his memory became as clear as the day he lived it.

The Dominion was close; already they could hear the engines of their ships landing not far away. Time was running out. The Dlaa'ta leaders accompanied by most of the curious settlers had gone to greet them. Leaving their power core unguarded.

Even now he could hear his subordinates report their positions. Hear his heart throbbing for that small moment he hesitated. Hear the command coming from his own lips. Borlon's explosion, providing the diversion. The cries of the villagers as the Dominion thought it was being attacked and opened fire. Screams of the dying, of the betrayed.

The command decision.

No tribunal, no trial, just his conscience against his memories. Because of him an entire planet was unpopulated. He made a conscious decision to sacrifice a few people for the good of the Federation. He'd escaped to tell the Federation of the Dominion's fleet movement in that sector, impressing upon them the cost of that information. The result? It was useless. Either they'd already known or had deemed the Dominion's presence in that sector to be of no value. Regardless, Colburn's efforts in the midst of battle had been lauded and he was given a commendation for his leadership. Jora and Borlon likewise accepted their rewards. Protests clung to his tongue like dust and he remained silent.

Years later found him here, captain of the USS Nelson; a fine starship with an excellent crew. The war was over and peace again held sway over the galaxy. But coursing underneath, silent and oppressive, was the guilt. Perhaps this was the galaxy's method of punishment, balancing the wrongs with right.

Somewhat impulsively he glanced upwards, past the trees and the brilliant blue sky. Everything he had was up there among the stars. His ship, his home. His wife. He'd never told her about his experiences during the war and neither had she. Nazira had certainly seen her own horrors, carried her own demons. They all did.

In the beginning the Federation had risen out of galactic chaos—each member abandoned their wars, their hatred. Lies were not tolerated and injustices were exposed. Openness was the policy—admit the truth and accept the consequences. But what of the wrongdoings of the Federation itself? The price of war, they'll say. Unavoidable catastrophes. The Federation had laid aside its own principles for the sake of victory, but now was time to correct that.

"Colburn to Nelson."

"_Nelson acknowledges_," said a different voice this time.

"I'm ready to beam up now. Tell Lieutenant Thalyn to meet me in my ready room." It was time to tell the truth.

"Yes, sir."

As the beam of light surrounded him and he felt his consciousness pulled apart for just a split second, he felt that he'd taken a step in the right direction; a step for the Federation.


End file.
